


Those days

by 4ylien



Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 10 years AVPM, 10 years StarKid, A Very Potter Musical - Freeform, AVPM Canon, AVPM References, Animagus, Harry Potter Alternativ Canon, M/M, Quirrellmort - Freeform, Wizards and witches and magical beasts, avpsy, team starkid, what happend after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4ylien/pseuds/4ylien
Summary: Voldemort had thought he’d be happy forever, as long as he was by Quirrell’s side. But they had managed to bring his body back a while ago by now and he discovered that being together with your literal soulmate doesn’t solve everything.Even home turns into a prison if you can’t leave it at all and it starts to take a toll at the dark lord himself.But they’re wizards!And by JK Rolling! Magic solves everything!Or…?





	1. Those horrible days

**Author's Note:**

> Happy B-Day to AVMP, StarKid and myself!  
> I haven't written a FanFiction in ages and never in english at all… enjoy!

Today was one of those days.  
Voldemort hated THOSE days!  
They were nasty and itchy in all the wrong places.  
Quite literally!  
In fact, there were many places he would rather be than underneath Quirrell’s turban.  
He still enjoyed being close to him – that wasn’t the problem. Not at all, under normal circumstances.  
But not today.  
And NOT like this.  
He had the strong urge to sneeze since they had left the house early in the morning - holding back a sneeze for a short while was one thing… but for nine hours!  
That was straight up torture!  
At the moment the only thing hewished for in the whole wide world was to see this nasty turban go flying into a corner! Of coursehe would force Quirrell topick it up later.  
But first they had to get rid of it and Voldemort just wanted to throw it far away.  
Burn it too.  
It was no option, though.  
It took an unbearably long time until his wish finally came true.  
Voldemort counted the steps up the stairs to their apartment and listened to the sound of Quirrell’s keys, as the man fiddled nervously around with them. After an unusually long time he managed to turn the key and the door sprung open.

Sometimes it was annoying that Quirrell had the ability to sense Voldemort’s mood – especially when the pale man was twitchy.  
Voldemort believed it to be a side effect of the horcrux.  
Quirrell always knew when Voldemort was angry and being sure about it made the thin wizard even jumpier than usual and sometimes he would even start to quiver, so easy tasks took him twice the time.  
Voldemort was often mad at Quirrell because of it. He was still scared to death by Voldemort sometimes – even though Voldemort had learned to behave, be less bossy and gave his best to be as friendly and sweet as possible.  
To be honest he still had to improve his patience a lot!  
They had been living together for more than four years by now – sparring the Azkaban incident Voldemort still felt extremely guilty about – and at least three of them on ‘first name’ basis.  
Still.  
Sometimes all Quirrell could see in Voldemort was the powerful, evil wizard who once had tried to rule the world – and had treated him worse than most people would treat their dog for a while.  
There weren’t many big arguments in their relationship.  
But if they had an argumentit was quite common for Quirrell to call Voldemort ‘Dark Lord’, ‘Dark King’ or any of those other stupid names Voldemort now despised so much- for obvious reasons! Who would manage to have a healthy argument about anything if the opponent placed himself in the role of the inferior from the start!?  
Hearing those names made Voldemort feel bad about all the things he had done to Quirrell and that they still hadn’t had the promised rollerblading date. And being remembered of all of that made him even angrier.  
And an angry Voldemort didn’t help the discussion and drained the last bit of confidence out of Quirrell.  
And it was completely unfair.  
He didn’t deserve any of Voldemort’s anger.  
He was the only one who stuck with him far beyond the end, didn’t frame him, accepted him as a person rather than just a leader and sacrificed more in Voldemort’s favour than the rest of the Death Eaters combined! 

Voldemort eyed Quirrell, who now stood in front of the mirror, biting his lip and inspecting his scalp.  
At least the turban wasstored away safe and sound on the top of the wardrobe next to the front door.  
It had been a long way for Quirrell to get used to place it there when he took it off but by now, he didn’t even think of throwing it on the floor. Today Voldemort would have appreciated just this kind of destructive energy…

Voldemort silently sighed.  
He knew it would certainly be one of those ‘Dark Lord’ conversations.  
But he was done with how things had been for a while now.  
Something HAD to change!  
They HAD to talk. And there never would be a good moment for it anyways!  
Voldemort had just opened his mouth - but for once Quirrell was faster. 

“You scratched me. Again!” he complained, rubbing his shaky thump over a tiny spot on his back  
head. Scratching had indeed been a growing issue during the last months. 

“I know, I KNOW! I’m sorry! Your turban was loose and how the spell am I supposed not to not let it fall off if you’re jumping around like Peeves pranking first years?!” 

Quirrell’s day had been quite good – especially the first half of it. It had been a beautiful, lazy morning and when Quirrell finally went off to work he´d gotten an unexpected pay raise.  
It wasn’t the most brain stimulating job to work at the library and not well payed either.  
Literally ANYONE who could read was able to do it!  
But never had any of the workers sorted books as fast as Quirrell!  
Well.  
On one hand it was easy to impress muggels – but on the other it also an easy und fast accomplished task with the use of a little wordless everyday-magic.  
To be honest, Voldemort envied Quirrell on his success - simply because he had a job and lived a relatively normal live. And though he was happy for Quirrell such moments made him jealous and that,in reverse,made him very moody. 

As soon as Voldemort had shut his mouth, he realized that his tone had been way too harsh to start an in anyway friendly ending conversation.  
Quirrell had already shivered slightly - but for once the thin wizard tried to stand his ground – failing in the end.  
As usual.  
“YOU wanted to g-get out of here! N-not having to sit around in the apartment all day! And it was MY idea! M-my head and neck hurt every day! It’s not that I’m not scared of making you fall! I HAVE to move and stretch! I can’t always calculate if it will be too harsh of a motion for you! Y-y-you scratched me, and it itches and…!” he flung his hands up in the air, desperate “What the spell do you want me to do, Dark Lo-“  
“Oh shove it!” snapped Voldemort.  
“Just… shove that Dark-Lord-Shit FINALLY!”  
His voice was hard and icy.  
He took a deep breath and tried to soften it as much as possible to get rid of the iciness and relax Quirrell - at least a little.  
“Please.”  
Voldemort ran a shaking hand over his face.  
“See… I wanted to talk to you about all of this. I can’t stand it anymore. I’m scratching you. All the time. I really don’t want to hurt you.  
Believe me.  
I can see that you don’t know how to comfortably lay down comfy at night because your body hurts so much.  
It’s hot, uncomfortable and itchy for both of us.  
I always have to hold back the urge to sneeze because it would be really awkward for you…” Quirrell avoided the gaze of Voldemort and looked down on the floor, pressing his lips together.  
“See… I am sorry. Come here, will you?”  
Voldemort patted the sofa next to him.  
“We both hoped it would be over. And your idea was awesome! We… just have to think of another way to use it...”  
“I-it was so much work… you risked so much and-and…” Quirrell sighed and walked over to Voldemort,dropping heavily into the cushions next to him.  
“I-I just had hoped that the Animagus would solve everything. Forever…” 

It had been Quirrell’s Idea. And… Well.  
Rita Skeeter had something to do with it too.  
And Sirius. And Pettigrew. And even James Potter.  
After Voldemort had moved in with Quirrell – getting Voldemort’s body back a second time without actually sacrificing anyone had been a challenge, but they had figured it out eventually – they had had the problem of:  
What in the name of J.K. Rolling should Voldemort do all day long?!

He was considered dead after all. So open appearances or shopping groceries were no option in the foreseeable future.  
At first Voldemort had enjoyed sitting around, just relaxing and enjoying being a breathing, living real human person with his own body again - reading, sometimes dancing and watching those stupid things muggels made on those ‘TV-thingys’.  
But it wore of his charm quite fast - especially after Quirrell found a job.  
Which, of course, was necessary for paying the rent. It was a rather small and cheap apartment, but still.  
Even wizards ran out of money after a while – and Voldemort wasvery happy for Quirrell.  
Being trapped in a tiny apartment alone all day just mad the weekdays extremely dull.


	2. First solutions

The first idea on which they acted had been Polyjuice potion.  
The actual first idea had come from Quirrell: A beauty operation.   
In theory it should work out because Voldemort had always looked the way he did and not because of a curse or spell but due to – rather poor - genetics.   
But they both agreed that they might cause attention and not everything would be fixed afterward. Additionally, Voldemort hated the thought of someone cutting into his face with a blade and feared he could develop big scars, or something would go wrong and disfigure him even worse.   
He was sure he would never look like a normal human anyways.  
But he didn’t have anything against Polyjuice potion.  
It had worked out very well and had even been fun too for a while.   
But they soon figured out why it wasn’t commonly used in the wizarding world, not even for hiding.   
Besides the long time it took to be prepared, of course.  
Most likely the pain was so extreme because Voldemort transformed so often.  
He on one hand preferred to take on a different alias everyday to thinking and sticking to a backstory – or worse, a habit.  
Muggels loved predictable habits, like meeting the same person every day on their way to the bakery. They immediately started gossiping if fellow humans weren’t as predictable as them self. As if they were proud of being inflexible!  
And neither Voldemort nor Quirrell desired any kind of attention or gossiping!  
If Voldemort would ever be discovered he surely would be sent to Azkaban.  
Forever.  
On the other hand, Quirrell was confident enough to demand Voldemort to be in his own body when they went to sleep.  
He didn’t want to cuddle up back-to-back and wake up with a stranger!  
Voldemort understood his point and agreed without backtalking.  
So he had to transform at least twice a day. Of course he had to drink the horrible tasting potion several times throughout the day too, so he could keep his appearance.  
But at least that didn’t hurt too bad if he drank it in time.  
Taking Polyjuice potion never was a pleasant feeling.   
But the more often he transformed, the more Voldemort’s bones and guts protested - it became painfuller every day.  
After some months Voldemort could barely take it anymore.   
He had tried to hide the pain from Quirrell but the ‘horcrux effect’ had snapped in and Quirrell had insisted that Voldemort had to stop using the potion – and if he had to destroy it and the recipe himself!  
Even Quirrell’s guts screamed in condolence when Voldemort took the potion– even if he took it in time and only to maintain his appearance -how horrible must it feel for Voldemort himself?!Even though he had never witnessed Voldemort wincing even once Quirrell forbit him to use it any longer.  
Another argument against the potion was that the pale wizard usually came home, transformed back and went straight to sleep – body and soul completely exhausted.  
They couldn’t spend a lot of time together.  
Not even watch a movie to relax, after a stressful day.  
Realizing how much Quirrell actually experienced his feelings too made Voldemort sometimes feared that he couldn’t hide anything from Quirrell anymore– no matter how hard he tried.   
Horcruxes weren’t so great after all, he realized.   
On the other hand he had a completely different ‘horcrux-situation’ with Quirrell that the one he had had with Potter.  
Sometimes he enjoyed it a lot when he sat at home alone and something made Quirrell very happy – and him too, a little. The horcrux was stronger in the Voldemort Quirrell direction than the other way around.  
After they had agreed that the idea had flopped they still kept a small amount of potion on the shelves in the pantry.   
Just for rare occasions of going out together to celebrate something with a fancy meal or a trip to the cinema.   
So far they only had a failure on their record and they hadn’t got any inspiration for new ones out of it.  
All Voldemort could do for now was thinking and sitting on his arse.  
Again.   
For months.   
Subsequently the Ex Dark Lord started to get very moody and snapped at everything that didn’t go exactly his way.  
Which was everything basically.  
He would never admit it, but he was afraid. Afraid that he would never be able to leave the house again.  
But this wasn’t the only thing that ruined his mood.  
For a long time,Voldemort hadn’t even dared to tried magic.   
He had felt weak and was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do or control it.  
He still hated to be bad at anything – especially if it had to do with magic.   
Though he had managed to turn away from his heavy racism against non-magical persons, one of the things he feared the most in the world was to be a squip.   
After some months of regaining energy and recovering his body he had carefully, and in secret, dared to tried it again.  
In the beginning with first semester spells such as ‘Lumos’ or ‘Alohomora’.   
After they worked out flawlessly he started experimenting with more difficult such as ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ or ‘Accio’ – usually for the TV remote.   
He had figured there weren’t any spells that he could use to turn the TV on and off or switch programs.   
Sometimes he was really confused on how far superior wizards were compared to muggels and the other way ‘round.   
And if they were fully compatible or not. Both sides had their perks…   
The only problem with his experiments on the TV topic was that he blew some of them in the progress.   
One of the rare times he had seen Quirrell REALLY mad had been wrecking the fifth one in a month. Voldemort had tried to push the on/off button with a bit of water through an Arguamenti spell.  
It didn’t end well.   
Instead of just softly pushing the button, he had swung Quirrell’s old wand with a bit too much force and the water had pierced the TV and suddenly the lights were out too!  
Those TV-things were surprisingly costly. And Voldemort refused to live without one!  
After purchasing the sixed TV of the month Quirrell got bowed out by the shop owner in person.  
He made Voldemort swear NEVER trying to fool-around with it ever again!   
Or any other thing electric.  
And Voldemort stuck to his word.   
He always tried to, when it came to Quirrell.  
In the end using the remote was not much different than using a spell. And as long as they wouldn’t put a self-destruction button onto it, at least the TV was save.

 

One late Saturday afternoon they were sitting in the living room together, in pleasant silence.   
Quirrell was reading the ‘weekend prophet’ and it was quite unusual when he suddenly lowered the paperwith a loud rustle and slowly asked:   
“You knew Sirius Black was an Animagus, right?”   
“Yeah… kinda. Pettigrew told me once. Why? Doesn’t matter, does it?” muttered Voldemort back, not really paying attention.

He was sitting on the dinner table, trying to analyse all those drama going down in pride and prejudice.   
He still couldn’t follow all the events and character developments without taking notes and although he kind of sensed why Quirrell loved those books it still was hard for him to relax while reading.   
He not only had to pay a little attention.   
He had to take quite detailed notes. It was way easier to follow those cheesy soap operas on TV.   
He actually enjoyed those more that Quirrell did.   
Hell! It had literally been easier for Voldemortto plot evil schemes!   
But he owned it to Quirrell.   
He had to at least give Jane Austin one try and give his best to understand what was so great about her work.   
Quirrell had– only in the past, sadly – sometimes read parts of it to Voldemort as he still had existed as a parasite on the back of Quirrell’s head and thus been horribly bored while Quirrell had had his ‘private hour’ without plotting orbeing obligated to do everything Voldemort wanted him to do.   
Quirrell had usually used his ‘free time’ to read and it hadn’t bothered him to read it out aloud for Voldemort entertainment.  
That had been quite nice, actually.   
He really missed the little – sometimes funny, sometimes helpful – comments Quirrell had added. The small, never the less sometimes heated, discussions on how irrational those muggels behaved, how hilarious Quirrell had sounded when he mimicked the muggels talking and everything else.  
“Because no one had noticed!” Quirrell explained heavily excited.  
“NO ONE! I mean only Pettigrew knew about it – and about James Potter. And only they and us knew about Pettigrew! I mean… it is illegal, but they can’t really do anything against you, as they don’t even know you are an Animagus, if you aren’t caught or anything!” he bent over, poking the newspaper with his finger.   
“There is this big case in the ministry - apparently Rita Skeeter is one!   
And she illegally used it to get information for her horrible articles!”  
As much as Quirrell loved drama and gossip, he despised Skeeter. He labelled her writing style as ‘bland’ and overly sensational without any personality or honest interest in the matters she pretended to cover.  
“This Krum guy – the seeker of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team - spotted the same big blue bug in their tent for several times and realized that whenever the bug had been sitting there information’s were ‘leaked to’ Skeeter.   
He captured it last week and it turns out it’s Skeeters in Animagus-Form!”   
By now Quirrell had pocked a hole in the picture of a very distressed looking woman in a greenish dress and had finally gotten Voldemort’s full attention. Quirrell would never destroy anything written – it was holy to him. Spare any article written by Skeeter.  
He had to be REALLY excited.   
And he was squeaking like an excited bat.   
Hard to ignore too.   
“So you mean…” started Voldemort slowly, not really keeping up with Quirrell’s train of thought.  
“That you should become an Animagus! YES!”   
“Well that was not exactly what I wanted to say but… You know they say it’s an awful hard spell… And what if my Animagus is a basilisk? Wouldn’t be of much use, would it?” Voldemort put down his pen, concentrating on their conversation.  
“How hard can it really be?! Those ‘marauder’ children managed it! We – I mean you – should give it a try! What is in it to lose? You can only gain, right?!   
I mean, you could try a Patronus first. It should show your Animagus form, shouldn’t it? You could see if it’s worth the effort.” Quirrellexplained completely thrilled.   
Obviously, Quirrell hadn’t been reading for a while but had stared blankly at the article, pondering. And Voldemort really didn’t want to wreck his excitement.   
He did that too often anyways.   
Unintentionally mostly, but still. 

But in contrary to Quirrell’s enthusiasm there really WAS something for Voldemort to lose in there.   
He once had been considered – and had praised himself - the most powerful wizard of all time.   
He already knew that owning this title was history.   
He had been defeated by a two year old – whom he had tried to kill again ten years later, only to be killed by the young lad AGAIN.   
And even if that had been incredibly bad luck and the will of some crazy kind of god… if he wouldn’t be able to become an Animagus it would definite PROOF that Voldemort was less than an ordinary wizard.   
Even weaker than some stupid, childish students.   
And he didn’t really know if he could handle that.   
He at least had no doubt that Quirrell would be supportive either way but…   
Voldemort pulled himself together.  
“Yeeeah… I’ll give it a try.” He said, with a crooked little smile that made Quirrell’s heart melt into a puddle.   
“Thank you.”


	3. Rehersal and more plans

“Nope. It doesn’t form ANYTHING. At all.” Moaned Voldemort for the thousandth time.   
“You have to think about something more positive!!” Quirrell tried to encourage him - though he didn’t quite sound as passionate as the many times bevor.   
“I DO. It doesn’t get any more positive!” complained Voldemort, on the verge of exploding.   
“So… what actually is your happy thought?” Quirrell asked, not that patient anymore.  
It wasn’t the first time asking, but Voldemort had refused to answer it. In the beginning Quirrel had just been curious but after Voldemort keep dogging it over and over again, he started to grow suspicious.   
Of course, he wished that Voldemort’s happiest memory was with him but… if it wasn’t…. Well, he…. still preferred to know.   
He just hoped it wasn’t with that Bellatrix slut!   
Voldemort had made it clear in the past how much he had enjoyed “spending time” with her and Quirrell still felt a jealous pang when he remembered it.  
“First of all, I never have been able to make an ‘real’ Patronus. Only… this…. this very thin mist.” Voldemort explained, keeping his voice down with force.   
“I just told Dementors to bugger off, and they did! And second: The day on Azkaban bay.   
When I came… home… and all.” He blushed only a little, but it set his pale face on fire.   
“Oh.”   
There was an awkward silence, but Quirrell grinned from ear to ear.   
They had been together – really together – for a while now. But the moments Voldemort admitted what an important role Quirrell had played in his live were still rare. Him admitting that his happiest memory was reuniting with Quirrell had the value of screaming‘I love you!’ in front of all the inhabitants of New York City.   
“Ammm... maybe we should just try the Animagus then.   
It’s not impossible, is it? You don’t have to be able to summon a corporeal Patronus to succeed with the Animagus right?”  
“…. I… I don’t think so…. It should be… well… maybe it’ll work out… at least kind of OK…”   
“Hey.   
Voldemort.   
Ok would be wonderful.” Quirrell grinned with new hope.   
“You’ll make it!”   
Voldemort smirked, his frustration vanished.   
Maybe it was Quirrell’s favourite memory too. Whenever it fit he answered an ‘OK’ the way Voldemort had back then. It seemed genuinely spoken, kind words had a higher impact than most people thought after all! 

It turned out they had been WAY too optimistic for once.   
They had imagined becoming an Animagus as away much easier task than it actually turned out to be.   
And the ‘how hard can it be’ attitude was solely based on the fact that ‘some’ students had mastered it.   
Completely ignoring that those ‘some’ students had more than a good reason to take on the troubles.   
They didn’t consider the strong bond of friendship they had had with Remus in any way.  
They also had to discover that neither of them had been quite as good of a student as their grades might have suggested.  
Or at least as good as they remembered them…  
Maybe they had just forgotten a great bunch of what they had learned at school as they had marked it‘relevant for a test’ in their brains.   
Which, for example, included all of the transfiguration material.

Apparently they had already learned the key mechanics about becoming an Animagus in their third year at Hogwarts in transfiguration class and, at this point, would have been allowed to legally become one too.   
But neither Voldemort nor Quirrell remembered a word of it!   
Both clearly had had other priorities that year.

Voldemort had still desperately tried to find out if there ever had been a wizard named ‘Riddle’ at this time in his live and thus find his relatives and proof to himself that he indeed was a pureblood wizard.  
And on top on of that Dumbledore had been his teacher.   
The one Professor perfect little Tom Riddle never had been able to charm completely.The only one who would never fully trust him no matter how hard he tried.   
Dumbledore might have dismissed the suspicions from fellow students as jealousy but he himself had kept an, a little distracted, eye on him.  
Somehow he was kind of OK with it as literally every other Professor adored him.   
He didn’t have to spend his time wooing Dumbledoreand could put it to good use. More precisely to woo other professors.  
Especially Slughorn.   
Slughorn had always liked him because all he saw was Mr. Riddle’s great potential, but the soon-to-be Voldemort still tried to build especially strong bond with him. Who would know if that arrogant, weak and -well- sluggish, wizard would be useful later? He wasn’t stupid after all. Or at least well educated. And sometimes education was just as important as wits.  
There was no need to waste his time on Dumbledore if Slughorn was a – quite literal –‘big fish and already on the hook!

Voldemort still made the effort to write the best grades in the transfiguration class, but he didn’t remember anything after finishing a test that wasn’t necessary for the next year. This technique had worked out fine throughout school.  
In the end he got rid of the subject as soon as he could.  
Now he realized that he should have paid more attention on it – and other subjects he had neglected too. Like Divination. In this case especially on the topic of ‘self-fulfilling prophecies’!  
Paying more attention on details would surely have saved him a lot of pain in throughout his live…  
But he had realized that keeping an eye on details was neither his best skill nor the best of wizards in general.  
Quirrell on the other hand had already found his passion in muggel studies at the end of his second year and didn’t care fortransforming things or turning into a little, filthy, animal himself.   
He rather wanted to know why muggels did the things they did, how their society worked and what they invented to go by without magic.   
He barely passed Transfiguration.   
It was a big surprise for both of them when they opened Quirrell’s old book and found out what one actually had to do, nay, endure to become -if everything worked out- an Animagus.   
And in how many ways it could go horribly wrong.  
Voldemort did his best to swallow his fear and doubts and gave Quirrell a head up, never the less. He would try it – no matter the cost. 

Quirrell already happily lived with a very pale and nose less man, who also happened to be a murderer- so Voldemort guessed it wouldn’t be too hard for him to accept Voldemort if something went wrong and he would grow some nice and shiny scales in addition.   
He REALLY hoped not to though.   
But… it was utterly possible. And as long as Quirrell would still like him, he could make it work for him too, he tried to calm himself.  
He figured in the end they really had not much to lose, if he swallowed his own wizard pride.   
They already had problems getting started. They to get at least one of those Mandrake leafs. Preferably bevor the next full moon. They had tried to find a way to get their hands on one without a visit to Diagon Ally in fear of Quirrell getting recognized and thus asked wary questions he couldn’t answer without drawing too much attention.   
Even though he was officially released from Azkaban, people would surly wonder what he was up to.  
Especially because he had never officially returned to the wizard community and his only real connection was the daily prophet.  
They discussed the approach over the blackmarked.  
On the other hand: buying a dragon egg on the black market? Legit.  
Buying a plant leaf you could ask your wizarding neighbour for? Way too suspicious!   
Even if they won’t get busted!

So, in the end, they went with a classic shopping trip to Diagon Ally.


	4. A trip to the wizard world

On a cold and rainy Wednesday morning Quirrell called in sick at work, dressed in his wizard robes and went to Diagon Ally.   
As he entered the cobblestone street he realized he was really nervous. Somehowhe felt like the first time he had entered it, bevor he went to Hogwarts and became a wizard.  
He was excited and it was easy to imagine the whole street was filled with things he had never seen bevor – even though it wasn’t true.  
The Apothecary was in the middle of the ally and as Quirrell hadn’t been here in a few years, he took his time and absorbed everything he could. 

He strolled down the damp street, peering in every window, reading every information and snippet about the new and exciting stuff – about most of it he had already heard of in the Prophet, but it was utterly different seeing it with his own eyes.   
For example, the new Firebold2500 – of course faster and smoother and more elegant than any other broom on the planet before.   
He wanted to memorize as much as possible and hoped – one day - to be able to take Voldemort with him for a little visit.   
He surely would enjoy it very much.   
Somehow he felt like being in an alternative universe. The way he had all the times when he came back from Hogwarts to the muggel world, in which he grew up, for holydays and had to rediscover a lot of things and saw them in a way he had never seen them before.   
Just the other way around.  
It really felt - for the lack of a better word – magically. Like he was Alice, visiting the wonderland after a long time. A place he had almost forgotten. But he was back, and for his comfort nothing had changed while everything felt so very new.   
And it was wonderful!

As the weather was rather gloomy only a few wizards wandered the streets and the few who were there didn’t pay any attention to Quirrell and walked by in a haste.   
They could have recognized him, though.   
Quirrell didn’t really try to hide and was still as thin as always with the same features and all.  
But he didn’t wear his turban and his posture was less the one of a frightened, insecure man but rather confident, open and interested in his surroundings. He also looked a lot healthier since he didn’t have to allow Voldemort to feast on his soul anymore.  
For a moment he stopped in front of the ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ and thought of buying Voldemort and himself a little something to entertain them in the evening.   
But he decided not to.   
The Weasley’s where very likely to remember him, especially as Ron had been his student and was the CO-Owner, as it was written on the entrance in big, bold, red letters.  
He decided to turn away, after a careful inspection of their huge and colourful display and entered the Apothecary.   
It was very small and stuffed to the brim with a lot of different herbs dangling from the ceiling, bones, dry eyes and other creature parts as well as wet specimen overflowed the shelves and the smell of mystery and many different countries and areas filled the room.  
Quirrell remembered some scents from the journeys he had made long bevor he met Voldemort, but others were completely unfamiliar to him.  
He tried not to trip over or push anything down while making his way through the room and still managed to nearly bump his head into an enormous bundle of herbs as he produced his shopping list out of this pocket.

He ended up spending well over seventy gallons on ingredients for different potions.   
Some of them were somewhat relevant as they sooner or later had to brew and restock their Polyjuice Potion.   
Others where just… there.   
To mask the fact that he actually just wanted to buy a mandrake leaf, a death’s-head hawk moth chrysalis, some Polyjuice Potion ingredients and nothing else.   
They both hoped that it would be a little bit less suspicious if it looked like Quirrell was just an ordinary wizard, restocking his humble every-day potion brewing stock.   
The wizard behind the counter hopefully wouldn’t realize that the guy in front of him as the one that had dominated the front page of the Prophet for half a month. Quirrell didn’t want to increase the risk of being examined because his goods were suspicious and in the end being forced to make up excuses on the spot to avoid more questions.   
Luckily the small man who served him barely glanced at him once.   
He was very busy sorting a ton of ingredients that he just got delivered.  
Quirrell wondered where he would store them.

Quirrell had spontaneously decided on getting a few death’s-head hawk moth chrysalises just in case. More than one mandrake leaf too.   
Voldemort had to keep it in his mouth for a whole month after all and it was most likely that he would need more than one try.   
Redoing the procedure over and over again was very time consuming on its own and visiting the shop every month an additionally waste of time. It might be unlikely that any of the ingrediencies would run out of stock, but he didn’t want to give fate an opportunity to slow them down.  
Voldemort already waited impatiently for his return, when Quirrell finally came back in the evening.  
He envied the other one’s excursion into the wizarding world, a place he once had valued as his only refuge from which he was now banished.   
Most likely forever. 

He investigated the things Quirrell had brought with him and they decided that they would spend a nice evening with pizza and cola and popcorn, savouring it, before eating would become problematic for Voldemort.   
Quirrell himself had no intentions to become an Animagus.


	5. The procedure

A few days later full moon arrived, and Voldemort stuffed the first mandrake leaf in his mouth.   
It didn’t even last for a day.  
It was way too huge, uncomfortable and he couldn’t really speak, leave alone eat.   
This, of course, lost them another month as they had to wait for another full moon to appear.   
Voldemort hated the delay, and saw it was a bad omen, but at least there was a tiny light at the end of the pitch-black tunnel, and that kept his mood up at least a bit.  
He also had to discover pretending to be in a good mood actually made you happy after a while too! He didn’t want to disappoint Quirrell, after all.  
The next full moon was shining brightly over the city’s rooftops while Voldemort placed another leaf in his mouth, this time the smallest one Quirrell got.   
He folded it and shoved it behind his cheek teeth and there it stayed.   
The whole month  
He was close to spitting it out about ten times and nearly swallowed it twice. But he pulled himself together.   
This time he would make it!   
After all he WAS -had been- the Dark Lord!   
And ‘The Dark Lord defeated by a leaf!’ really sounded like something Skeeter would love to publish!  
That surely would be a new low.  
He simply couldn’t allow it.  
They often talked about how the rest of the potion brewing was supposed to work out.   
It was fall now, so a lightning storm and getting the untouched dew were the smallest of their problems. But a visible full moon… getting this ‘ingredient’ was not so easy in this season.   
It really was a pain in the ass that the outcome of the potion depended on so many coincidences!  
After a few late-night discussions on what could go wrong and how they could influence their success Quirrell once again slipped into his robe and even but on some Make-Up bevor he hurried back into Diagon Ally for a very short visit.   
This time exclusively to pay ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ a visit - hence the Make-Up.   
It was maybe a tiny bit detectable but not suspicious unlike a transformation and made Quirrell look different enough not to be recognized on spot.   
He left the shop undiscovered and relived, with what he came for and many other little trinkets as well as a card load of Bertie Botts Beans in all flavours.   
This should keep them entertained for a while.   
And the beans really did their job.  
They spend the evening sitting next to each other on the couch, munching away and spitting out the beans, trying half of what Quirrell bought and got every taste from vomit, earwax, soap and envelope glue to blueberry pie, cranberry and vanilla ice cream while indulging into first class wizard entertainment like ‘wet-fireworks’.  
They very much enjoyed pretending to be stupid, careless and more or less unbothered first years again, but the fun ended when Quirrell picked a bean that tasted like defeat and Voldemort didn’t believe him.   
But together defeat didn’t taste so bad after all and it was still better to end with it,then to get sick of eating too many of the beans.   
In retro perspective they both agreed that eating Bertie Botts Beans hadn’t been their brightest moment.   
There were enough flavours that made you want to spit them out or vomit and it wouldn’t have been unlikely Voldemort would spit the leaf out together with them.   
They decided not to test their luck again and locked the beans away till the day Voldemort would be ‘leaf-free’ again.  
The last big challenge they had to face bevor full moon was to get Voldemort’s wand back.   
He needed it to cast the annoying spell, after all.   
The formal explicitly asked for the wizards’ own wand and though Voldemort was usually fine with Quirrell’s old wand they didn’t want to risk the outcome being sloppy on this point.  
The problem was it first had been taken as a trophy by the youngest Weasley boy after they had won the battel of Hogwarts and had later been, well, stolen by Draco Malfoy who, for some reason, STILL tried to befriend his asshole stepfather.  
But Voldemort appreciated the stubbornness of the little Malfoy boy as it was easier to steal it from them then to steal it from the Weasleys.   
Quirrell had – for a while – frequently visited the Malfoys manor and was well accepted as a fellow death eater though he had never officially become one.   
Especially since he had, unwillingly, sacrificed himself to aid in Voldemort’s returnand helped the Dark Lord such a great deal in gaining his power back and reaching his goal of ruling the world – even though it had ended with the death of Voldemort.   
But no one could blame that on Quirrell.   
No one of the Malfoys suspected anything off when he went to the Malfoy Manor to visit ‘good ol’ Lucius’ and to talk about the ‘good ol’ times’ and reminisce the best dance moves of their beloved, deceased leader.  
After Quirrell had left, spending two hours of talking plain bullshit, an imitation of Voldemort’s wand hung above the chimney instead of the original one.

It was topped with a beautiful, probably very expensive, plaque which mentioned the many names of the wands deceased owner as well as the tap-dancing contests he had won in his earlier live.   
It was bizarre for Quirrell to see Voldemort being mourned like that, knowing very well he would encounter the very same wizard sitting grumpily in the living room, waiting for his return.   
But Quirrell was sure Lucius would prefer mourning the evil Voldemort he remembered so vividly to learning that he was alive and discover what ‘kind’ of a wizard he was now.   
Though for Quirrell it was quite the opposite.   
He loved the ‘new’ Voldemort and wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.

Full moon came and the ‘month of the leaf’ was supposed to finally be over.   
And, of course, it was cloudy.  
Voldemort was – for maybe the fifth time in his life – really scared.   
The sky was annoying, but they had to take some risks anyways:   
Does chest hair count as ‘hair’?   
Hopefully. It didn’t explicitly state ‘head hair’ after all. And Voldemort couldn’t provide that.  
Dose the ‘Sunny Spell’ form ‘Weasleys Wizard Wheezes’ work to dispel the clouds in front of the moon?!   
By J. K. Rolling they prayed for both!   
They closed their eyes and pulled the cork out of the ‘Sunny Spell’ bottle, outside in the pitch-black yard.   
A soft but bright light blinded them for a while and they stood there, completely silent, like two stags in the headlights of anapproaching car. 

It was a very strange for Voldemort to be under the dark, grey sky again. He hadn’t had this pleasure in his own body for a very long time and even now, in the middle of the night, he didn’t know how to feel about it.  
He felt… exposed.  
A little like he was doing something forbidden and very much like he didn’t belong.   
This was not ‘his’ city tough he had lived here for years. Not the sky he remembered. Even the darkness of the night didn’t feel familiar. All of it combined twisted his guts as he remembered how much he had always loved the night,   
He still appreciated feeling the cold wind blowing through his clothes and the wetness of the rain.  
He tried to suck it up.   
Who knew when he would have the pleasure again?  
He tried to feel as powerful as he had done before, but he couldn’t. ‘Before’ was long gone. It had been long before Quirrell had entered his life.  
He had to admit to himself that he nowadays preferred sitting inside a cosy room in front of a fireplace.  
The light erupting from the bottle got weaker after a while and finally vanished after about ten minutes.   
The sky wasn’t clear, but the spell had ripped a hole into the clouds, just in front of the moon. The moonlight shone through in powerful rays and Voldemort signed heavily.   
“Here goes nothing.” He muttered and spit out the leaf into a small phial.   
The moonlight was gone by the time they had finished adding the hair, dew and the chrysalis.   
To tell the truth, they had cheated a tiny bit with that dew too.   
Quirrell had placed a black plastic box,which was UV-opaque,on the flat roof of the library and collected the dew that settled down inside over the span of some days. It was more than enough for the potion and neither of them wanted to bother with more obstacles than they had to.   
Of course it had been Quirrell’s idea.  
Voldemort was very proud of him!  
Quirrell knew how to use his wits and would have made a better consultant than Bellatrix. Voldemort was sure of that.  
Or… well.   
Quirrell had never been really interested in using them for evil deeds… so maybe he was just… different than Bellatrix.   
Way better suited for a peaceful live in a cosy home as Quirrell always searched for the easiest road and not the most dramatic one. In this topic he was the perfect counterpart for Voldemort.  
And he usually succeeded in finding an easy way and more often than not it worked out pretty well too.

Quirrell shrugged as they placed the bottle deep down inside his wardrobe. It was most likely not to be disturbed in there. He still didn’t care about his laundry – but he didn’t just throw it away.  
And that was enough for Voldemort.  
“I really hope it works. I don’t know what will happen if it won’t. And what we should try then.” He muttered.  
Voldemort wrapped his arm around him.  
“It will. Don’t worry, Squirrel.”   
He felt good. Optimistic.  
And: why the spell not?! They had a good start.  
Chanting the Amato Animo Animato Animagus spell every morning and evening was to be considered the easiest part of the procedure.  
Just a little bit annoying.   
Voldemort got introduced to a new muggel invention he loved a lot: The alarm clock.  
And it didn’t even take magic to make it literally scream at him ‘DON’T FORGET THE SPELL!’ every sunrise and sunset.   
Quirrell had set it up and also had recorded the morning call,after he had brought it home one day when they started preparing for the whole operation.   
Praise Quirrell and his muggel-Studies! 

The next lightning storm was on midday.   
Voldemort woke up, startled.   
He had gone back to sleep after chanting the spell three hours ago.  
He stared confused into the bright light, as huge lightingnearly stroke the tree outside the window, illuminating the room for three seconds.  
It was followed by a loud and roaring torrent like thunder.   
He jumped out of the bed, sprinted to the closet and ripped the potion out of it’s hideout.   
He hoped the storm had just begone.  
And he usually only slept lightly after he had been woken once – and who would sleep through thunder anyways?!  
It just HAD to be the first lighting!  
It was a bit too much hoping at once for a normal day, to be honest.  
He was relived for a moment as he discovered that the potion in his palm was as red as it was supposed to be.   
At least their cheating had worked out SO far – if the colour was an indicator, but it usually was.  
Voldemort prayed it wouldn’t backlash.  
Hopefully there weren’t any side effects either.

He stumbled into the living room, still a little dizzy from standing up to fast.  
He gazed around the room and stopped for a second.  
Was it big enough?It was explicitly mentioned to ONLY transform in a huge and free area, but it was impossible as Voldemort couldn’t leave the flat.  
And transforming into… anything in front of muggels wouldn’t be a good idea. But there was no time to go some were private.  
If he would transform into a basilisk, he would surly wreck the whole room and come crashing down into the flat underneath.  
Voldemort inhaled deeply.   
He put the tip of his wand against his bare breast, just above his heart, and, his voice quivering, called out, a little too loud “Amato Animo Animato Animagus!” for the very last time.   
The rain was furiously drumming against the windows.  
Voldemort threw all doubts and caution into the holing wind.   
He but the glass against his lips and gulped it’s content down at once, in the bright flash of another huge lightning.


	6. After the storm

“Voldy! I’m home!” Quirrell slammed the door shut.   
Voldemort loved it when Quirrell called him ‘Voldy’. It usually meant good stuff!   
And a slammed door meant full hands – usually Donuts! 

Quirrell apparently hoped that Voldemort had noticed the storm – it had been loud enough, had succeeded the procedure and had bought Donuts to party with him.  
Or to drown their pity in a sugar rush, if something hadn’t worked out.  
Well at least he would have felt Voldemort’s pain if it would have gone completely wrong.But there had been nothing, so it couldn’t be a worst-case scenario, at last.  
Still.  
It had been a long working day for Quirrell.  
And no matter what awaited him at home, he deserved a treat for the enduring the tension and Voldemort surely did too.   
Even if the potion wouldn’t have turned red because they had messed up somewhere along the line. Or Voldemort ha managed to sleep through it.

But not only Quirrell, Voldemort too wasup for Donut! It indeed had been an exhausting day.  
“Hey Squirrel! I’m in the living room!” he answered, equally joyful and heard the other one stop dead in his tracks.   
It really had been a while since Voldemort sounded so joyful and Quirrell was not sure what to make of it…. and… the nickname.   
Voldemort usually only used it when he wanted something from Quirrell the thin wizard didn’t want to do. Or if he woke him for a big, hearty Sunday-morning-surprise breakfast.   
It was evening.   
Wednesday evening.   
Something had gone wrong.   
Quirrell tried not to think of a Voldemort covered in scales and pretended it was a normal day.  
No lightning storm, no Animagus experiment.   
Only a normal day.  
Did he break the TV again?!   
Oh please.   
Maybe he HAD transformed into an Basilisk and smashed it!   
Quirrell would happily buy a new one!  
The worse thing he allowed himself to imagine was that Voldemort would be sitting on the couch, covered in scales.   
This was something they could work out.  
He really wished the TV was the problem thought.   
His joy had – in the past – meant nothing good way too often.  
Quirrell decided to put the Donuts in the kitchen first, so he wouldn’t let them crush to the ground in the eye of the disaster.   
He was surprised to find a stack of unwashed plates on the kitchen counter.   
That had never happened bevor! Was Voldemort sick – or too mis-transformed to do the dishes?!   
He still hated untidy rooms! Especially the kitchen! It came first, just bevor dirty laundry laying on cha- well. Everything.   
He braced himself before he carefully tip-toed into the living room and tried not to picture the worse.   
Quirrell froze.   
It was deathly silent for a while.   
Quirrell starred at Voldemort.   
Unblinking.   
“That….   
That’s not a basilisk.   
Not a snake.   
Not at all….!”   
He blinked bevor he collapsed to the floor and started rolling around like a maniac, laughing, wheezing and gasping desperately for air.   
“Well… aren’t you the cutest thing on earth~?” Quirrell was sitting on the floor. He still had a short breath and tears in his eyes from laughing way too hard.   
“Ouch!”   
Voldemort had ‘bitten’ him into the thump. Notreally but he had threatened to.   
Quirrell raised his hand and carefully stroked Voldemort’s tiny, fluffy head. The dark wizard closed his eyes and relaxed completely on Quirrell’s arm, leaving his legs dangling down on either side.   
“I think we can work with this.   
I guess it’s even be better than a snake.”   
Voldemort yawned a cute little rodent yawn. 

 

Later they were sitting backon backto the sofa, watching ‘She’s all that’ for the thousandth time.   
“I can’t believe your Patronus is a god dam pun.” Snickered Voldemort snuggled and up to Quirrell’s shoulder, so he could watch the TV better.  
“Well…”   
Quirrell pressed his lips together.   
“And I can’t imagine your adapted to it! But you’re not the only one finding it amusing. And it was a good lough for everyone else in my class… didn’t really help my image…” But Quirrell couldn’t help to smile.   
It WAS funny, after all, he had to admit.   
He had spent a good two hours of the evening casting Patronus spells to jump around the living room. It had been a blast seeing his small, weak, ghostly Patronus squirrel being chased by the rather huge, muscular Voldemort-squirrel which apparently was his Animagus form.   
But after two hours Voldemort was really exhausted, the living room a wreck and Quirrell’s powers more than used up.   
They had settled on the sofa, refuelling with Donuts and hot marshmallow chocolate with more than just a shot of brandy. They were tipsy and happy and felt like nothing could stop them.   
“I’m just going to sit underneath your turban like in the old days and we can talk about everything that happened during the day on the evenings in bed!” in his excitement Voldemort nearly stumbled over his own words.   
“I mean that’s what squirrels do, right? Curling up in their nests and don’t move!”  
Quirrell, half asleep by now, nodded groggily.  
They were silent for a while.   
“Can you imagine how weird it would have felt for Snape if he would have ever transformed into an Animagus…?” Voldemort asked Quirrell, snickering. 

“I mean after all the Lilly stuff his Patronus was a doe! I guess he would have had to transform in one too, then! It feels weird enough to transform into an animal, but… even swap genders? No wonder he never tried!” 

 

It had worked out very well for some weeks.   
But after a while it got very frustrating for Voldemort. He could only hear and talk about the outside world but wasn’t able to see it or interact with it.   
They then had used charms on the turban so that there were some spots through which Voldemort could observe the world around him.  
It made the time he was stuck on Quirrell’s head much more enjoyable.  
But he could only look into the direction in which Quirrell was facing.   
If Voldemort’s delicate ears picked up an interesting sound behind Quirrell he couldn’t turn. He wasn’t allowed to move - the Turban would twitch, and they already had figured out that humans were way more likely to notice such things.   
They observed more than wizards.   
Maybe because they were more like… prey? Weaker? Voldemort wasn’t sure about that anymore.   
Maybe the majority of wizards were just carless and stupid, that would actually explain a lot when he looked back at how he had gained his power…   
Voldemort soon choose to stay at home rather than to go with Quirrell and if he went with him… well.  
In both chases Voldemort was unhappy with his situation and the atmosphere not really relaxed.  
But without Voldemort sitting on his head, at least Quirrell had a better time and was more relaxed. Which made the thin wizard feel guilty. And Voldemort slightly jealous again. Though he fought that feeling as hard as he could.   
They had gone through a lot of trouble over the time, making sure the turban squirrel was save and Voldemort even allowed Quirrell to clip his claws so he wouldn’t hurt him.  
But he still couldn’t help and grab Quirrell’s hair to hold his footage when the wizard was tripping or jumping. And while doing that he sometimes would scratch him hard enough to leave marks. Not necessarily bleeding, but marks never the less.  
It was no easy task for Voldemort to wreck another one of Quirrell’s ‘make Voldemort happy again’ Ideas.   
He didn’t want to do that. Quirrell really didn’t deserve it!   
In Voldemort’s opinion he only deserved success.  
But he had to.  
It wouldn’t end well between them, if they would keep going on.


	7. The last, big, idea

They sat next to each other in silence for a while, pondering – Voldemort tried to sort out his words and make them sound right.  
After a while Voldemort placed his arm gently around Quirrelland pulled him closer so he could rest his head on his shoulder.  
He nuzzled his face into Quirrell’s hair.  
“You remember how no one cared about the Weasley’s pet rat? Which was waaay to old? I mean… he was kinda dead anyways, but no one noticed or cared that they still treated it as a living being?” he begun carefully.  
Quirrell looked blankly at Voldemort, not understanding anything.   
“Couldn’t we try… that? I mean…” Voldemort’s voice faded and he was silent for a moment.  
OK.   
Quirrell ALREADY KNEW he still liked to sit back to back with him. Especially when he was distressed. He also knew that the Ex Dark Lord was surprisingly snuggly and sometimes just transformed into a squirrel to be carried around on his shoulders in the apartment, sleeping in his hoodie or sitting on his hand and being pet – or simply to sneak up to him, begging for attention, if he couldn’t simply lean against him in human form.   
Voldemort hated to ask Quirrell to snuggle with him. But as a squirrel he wasn’t even able to talk and that made the whole situation a lot easier for him. He could just… do it – and wouldn’t even be Quirrell’s way.   
He had never in his live completely relayed on anyone bevor Quirrellhad crossed his path.  
Voldemort had actively avoided relationships other than the one with Bellatrix. It actually never had been part of any plan to attach himself to someone! It just had happened.   
After he had experienced it, he really enjoyed it a tad too much and wasn’t ready to let go of the closeness.  
Sometimes Quirrell wondered if Voldemort had to refuel something he didn’t have when he was a child.   
As a not adopted orphan he clearly hadn’t gotten a lot of physical affection.   
Anyways, it was still hard for Voldemort to speak about things which weren’t considered, well, ‘manly’ or more accurate:  
‘mysterious-evil-wizard-cool’, especially when Quirrell was concentrating all his attention on him.   
“I meeeeeaaaan… I-I could… kind off… pretend to be your… pet squirrel?”   
Voldemort’s raspy voice got quieter with each word.   
That sounded awfully stupid, even for himself.   
“I mean I KNOW that squirrels aren’t common pets in the muggel world and to be fair I don’t know anything about them. But we could learn everything about them, and I can try to behave like a normal one. Maybe you could even take me to work in a basket or something.  
I… you could tell them that you found me next to a road, hit by a car. Bandage my paw or something like that!”   
Voldemort waited anxiously for Quirrell’s respond. The wizard had shifted while Voldemort spoke and now sat up straight next to him.  
Obviously weighting the odds of Voldemort’s idea.   
“W-we could give it a try. But… We really must think about something plausible then, right? And we have to know as much as possible about your squirrel breed.” He chewed his lip.  
“Okay. I’ll see what I can find out about them at work tomorrow.” Quirrell said, with a little torn smile.  
He signed.  
“I really hope for it to work. I don’t want to have you sitting around being all bored and miserable forever…”   
There was pity in Quirrell’s voice and a bit of pain too.   
Voldemort hated pity. But Quirrell’s pity was true and not faked. He felt all of Voldemort’s pain too, after all. Voldemort had already tried to find a way to get rid of the horcrux inside of Quirrell.   
He shouldn’t have to feel all the bad things Voldemort felt.  
He didn’t want to take the risk of the only way he knew how to destroy it -Killing him to get rid of it.  
Maybe it was simple dumbfound luck that the Potter boy had been able to come back.   
It was nothing to toy with.  
But, apparently, there was no other way to do it. It turned out bevor Harry Potter there had never been a horcrux inside of someone. So every guide on destroying one had something to do with poison and stabbing.   
Somehow Voldemort had to admit that he didn’t really want to get rid of the connection. He found a lot of comfort in knowing that a part of him was literally living in Quirrell’s heart.  
Maybe the other one had somehow actively allowed the horcrux to attach himself without realizing it...   
Sometimes he feared the other one only stayed by his side because of it. He wouldn’t have any problem with it, if Quirrell wouldn’t suffer when he himself suffered. If they could do something against it, they could at least make a decision!  
It wasn’t fair but they couldn’t do anything against it.  
“Me neither. But I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’d prefer sitting at home if this would be my only choice.” Voldemort smiled softly and got up. “You want some hot chocolate too? We don’t have donuts, but at least it’s something, isn’t it?”   
Quirrell nodded and returned his smile, before Voldemort gave him a little kiss and went off to the kitchen. Preparing meals without magic was something he had grown to enjoy a lot.  
Even if it was just hot chocolate.  
While he stirred the milk, his thoughts wandered of to all the flaws his plan had.  
If it wouldn’t work out, he wouldn’t know what else to try.

The next day Voldemort woke up early and felt restless. He kissed Quirrell goodbye and had already decided to take Polyjuice-Potion for the first time in months.   
It didn’t hurt a lot this time, but he really didn’t want to test how often he could do it pain free. He hadn’t told Quirrell though – he didn’t want him to throw a fuzz or worry. But he was unable to just sit there and do nothing until Quirrell returned with results in the evening!   
And he couldn’t always push the work to Quirrell.  
He sometimes needed to do things for himself, too.   
In the body of a middle aged, a bit overweight but smart-ish looking man he left the flat and went to the natural history museum and some pet shops to find out everything that had to do with squirrels – how to keep one, how to deal with one and how to rescue one.   
He took notes.   
TONS of nots.   
He was just getting started with sorting them – already being Voldemort again - when Quirrell arrived with an eight people serving of Donuts.  
Bless the wizard god for this thoughtful man!  
He added his notes to the table.   
They sat down, munching away the donuts and slurping three pots of very strong coffee, discussing, comparing and thinking until it was well past midnight. In the end they came up with this:   
-Voldemort was a black squirrel. Fully named: Sciurus vulgaris- the eurasian squirrel. Fortunately, alocal animal   
-One wasn’t allowed to own a wild squirrel for any other purposes than to nurture it back to health after an accident or illness (this one was a pain in the ass as Quirrell was supposed to ‘keep’ Voldemort)   
-If you wanted to have a pet squirrel you needed to buy one from a breeder and own papers which proofed that it was breed and not caught in the wild (They had no interest in forging papers and getting into trouble)  
-Squirrels are VERY active. Voldemort didn’t intend to jump around all day. Well, a bit, maybe. But maybe his particularly squirrel was just more the mellow type.   
-They needed an outdoor cage. At least. Or a good story where Quirrell would keep a squirrel in a flat.  
-There was a no-animal policy in the house (but they would ignore it for obvious reasons)  
-Squirrels normally died after three years in the wild, but it was possible for them to live up to ten years too. Not common, but possible – especially if well cared for. This was very useful and ways better than a short living rat, for example. 

It was well past midnight when Quirrell put down his pen. They soon had figured out that pens were way more useful than quills and got rid of those.  
He cleared his throat.   
“Okay. I found you last week, on the roadside. You were runover by a car and broke your leg. I raised you back to some sort of health, but you’re still not allowed to jump around like crazy – but you can.   
This is why I have to take you with me so I can have an eye on you at all time and keep you calm. And now we have to figure out how far you will actually heal and if I can release you back into the wild ever again.   
I will tell people who ask that I tried to return you to the wild but – sadly – you’ve grown too attached, so you don’t want to leave.”   
Voldemort nodded and realized that Quirrell’s last sentence described his situation perfectly.   
He had needed Quirrell to survive and had gotten attached – quite literally. And though the plan had actually been that Voldemort should, once he had his body back, live on his own again. But he couldn’t leave Quirrell after he had spent so much time with him and after all the things the otherone had done for him for which he hadn’t paid him back.  
Though he had never really thought about it like… this. And even admitting it to himself made Voldemort uneasy.   
“Mmmm… yeah. And I will behave like a normal squirrel – but a kind of mellow one.” He added.   
“I’m happy that squirrels don’t like strangers. I can finally hiss at anyone who wants to touch me and it’s just the most normal thing!”  
Voldemort winked playfully at Quirrell.  
“Ahh! And if they ask me where I keep you I tell them I emptied the storage room and later we claim that you’re living in the tree outside my house - but you’re sitting at the kitchen window every morning and you really want to come with me and if I don’t pick you up you follow me on the ground and that’s just too dangerous with all the cats and the dogs and cars... Sounds realistic?” Quirrell offered, his voice sounding dead tired.   
Voldemort nodded. He couldn’t see any flaws in the story. But he actually didn’t want to see any either…  
Spell! Quirrell was his ‘home’.   
He was all he needed to feel save and happy and he could imagine animals felt the same if they were rescued. Maybe he should think about becoming a vegetarian…   
Later, in bed, they were laying back to back as usually.   
“I really like your Idea.It almost sounds too perfect.” Muttered Quirrell, half asleep.   
Voldemort smiled, equally tiered.   
“Thank you. I would be so glad if it works out. Both of us on our own again. At least.” He whispered back.  
Oh. This might have not sounded the way it was supposed to.  
He turned around and wrapped his arms around Quirrell bevor he nuzzled his face into Quirrell’s soft hair.  
“I can’t wait to hear what you did all day long while I was off doing squirrel stuff…” He whispered, slowly falling asleep  
“Good night, Morty…”whispered Quirrell back.

Morty.   
This name should become Voldemort’s third Identity.  
They had spend some time thinking about what Voldemort’s ‘squirrel-name’ should be.  
Voldy was no option, as it was his nickname and only Quirrell was allowed to use it now.  
Tom or ANYTHING to do with this name was no option for Voldemort – and it was not cute enough.  
Quirrell had first brought up the argument that it wouldn’t make any sense to call him Richard or something.  
But Morty was fine. It sounded just cute enough and, up to now, had no meaning at all but was still a little inspired by ‘Voldemort’ so it shouldn’t be too hard for him to get used to it.


	8. A very normal live

Voldemort’s first day as a squirrel was very exciting for tem. First thing in the morning Voldemort convinced Quirrell to wear a Hoodie, so he could crawl into the pouch and hide there if people would get too interested. They were so very nervous, they nearly forgot to bandage Voldemort’s paw and, in the end, Quirrell was way too late for work for the first time. Which – of course – got recognized.   
On the other hand, this was a great opportunity to introduce his new companion.   
There were mixed opinions on a squirrel in a library.   
But after Quirrell promised them on everything he owned that THIS squirrel was unusually mellow and stayed away from strangers and had never eaten ANY of his books they agreed on giving ‘Morty’ a chance.  
By now his co-workers knew very well how much Quirrell loved books and how many he owned. They allowed him a one-day experiment BUT if the rodent would eat so little as the CORNER of a book….!   
Voldemort stayed mostly in Quirrell’s pouch.   
It had been fun being a squirrel in the apartment and OK being a squirrel under a turban -but it was rather scary being a squirrel in the real world – the outside world.   
With all those stompy feet and dogs and cars and NOISE. And being exposed to big, observing eyes which begged wordless but aggressive:   
‘Can I cuddle it?! Pleeeeease!!?!?!!!???’   
But thankfully Quirrell didn’t allow anyone to touch him.   
He described him as fragile.   
Voldemort made a mental note to sit him down on this word choice in the evening!  
There were many questions and concerns if Quirrell was capable to care for a squirrel and after a while Voldemort got very annoyed and crawled onto Quirrell’s shoulder, snuggled up to him and fell asleep.   
Just to make a point.   
It really was a blessing that he couldn’t speak in his Animagus-form….   
He would have had a hell lot to lecture those people about how capable Quirrell was in caring for him!   
In the end it payed back that they had gone through the pain of building a very long and detailed backstory – it eliminated most of the questions.  
Quirrell got better and better at telling it too.   
Well, he had to repeat it a million times only on the first day, so he had good practice.   
In the end everyone was so glad this poor little, ‘fragile’, squirrel had found such a good… Daddy. Well...   
Voldemort DIDN’T approve that anyone called Quirrell his ‘Daddy’.   
And Quirrell didn’t like the title either.   
It felt VERY awkward…  
But it seemed to be a common thing that many muggels mixed up pets and children from time to time…So they had to deal with it.   
Usually Voldemort used his power move ‘its-OK-to-hiss-at-everything-and-everybody’ if somebody called Quirrell his ‘Daddy’.   
But to be honest they didn’t like the term owner either. On the other hand, no one would call a squirrel ‘partner’ of someone. Buddy was a good term trough.   
Voldemort was very proud of his partner. He really deserved all the attention and the praise he got for rescuing him.   
And Quirrell really did an awful good job when it came to care for Voldemort.   
There were still days on which Voldemort preferred to stay at home. Someone had to clean the apartment after all. But it wasn’t squeaky clean anymore. It was… wonderful. More a home than before – for both of them.   
Clean enough for Voldemort and chaotic enough for Quirrell.   
They both had learned that one didn’t necessarily rule out the other.  
Voldemort was in a better mood since he was able to run around freely.  
He soon discovered that listening to private conversations was just as entertaining as watching TV-Soaps.  
He had a blast sneaking around on the top of the library shelfs, unseen by anyone.   
Eavesdropping on every conversation he could became his favourite hobby,now and then he would take notes, sorted them and wrote what he remembered down in storys, summary’s or even chapter’s – if people visited the library regularly and always talked about what had happened since the last time they had met their friends.   
And somehow – Quirrell was in no way responsible for it – a few short-stories them found their way to the daily prophet.  
In the beginning Quirrell just wanted to give Voldemort something to do which at least resembled a job so he wouldn’t get bored. In the same move he might even get a bit more private time out of it. But it somewhat escalated.   
Every Saturday a new article was published in the Prophet by a ‘Mr. Morty Squirrel’ who pretended to spend his days on the top of shelf observing the strange habits, dramas and problems of muggels.   
Voldemort was sure: if any of Quirrell’s co-workers would read one of the texts he or she would become highly suspicious on how much this ‘Morty’ knew. And then remember that there had been a pet squirrel with just that name lose at the library for some months now.   
But the wizarding world as usually didn’t care if it was true, didn’t observe or THINK, knew nothing and LOVED the drama.  
No wonder Lockhart had been a superstar!  
They adored Morty and his way to describe anything muggel so much that Voldemort’s stories soon became a weekly highlight and they even started selling some collector edition books filled with them which sold very well. After a while Voldemort started to review things, he and Quirrell found when shopping, that were not known to wizards – after all the muggels did repeat themselves too and good written personal storys where way more complicated to do than funny reviews.   
Well, ‘Mr. Morty’ didn’t include the category’s ‘’least effective spell’ and ‘sound/effect when exploding’ for nothing!   
It took Voldemort some time to realize that he was in fact studying muggels just like the professors he had despised so much in the past. But… in the field it was so much fun, he apologised to them mentally for mocking their profession and jolly went on.   
In the end Voldemort wasn’t the only one benefiting from the new situation.   
Both had changed a lot, since the Ex-Dark-Lord had stared his anonymous live as a squirrel.   
Quirrell enjoyed his live with Voldemort more than… well. More than ever.   
As much as they both loved and needed each other, their relationship had gotten so much healthier since they both had something to tell each other in the evenings and achievements and plans for themselves.   
And for once spend more than only a few hours apart from one another.   
Quirrell soon got rid of the turban, which made him less eye-catching and therefore less insecure about going on with his everyday live.   
And as his hair would neither be uncomfortable under his turban anymore nor tickle Voldemort Quirrell sometimes allowed it to grow rather long and shaggy.   
Voldemort didn’t like it – but he never said anything against it.   
After all, Quirrell was his partner and friend and not his slave – and if he liked it, it was fine with him too.   
He also stopped stuttering – except when he was flustered, but that was a quite normal thing to do. It had strengthened his confidence a lot that he had helped Voldemort being able to live a relatively normal live. And the pale wizard boosted him up too with reminding him now and then on what an amazing partner he was.   
Sometimes Quirrell would even pick a fight with Voldemort – he was still the one who retreated quicker but he didn’t call Voldemort ‘Dark Lord’ anymore. Sometimes he would even win the arguments.   
Together they eventually saved enough money to buy a small brick row house with a tiny garden.   
Quirrell quit his job at the library and opened a little book shop in the ground floor. He also served tea, and, on two weekends a month, he held book club meetings.   
Mostly about Jane Auston.   
Voldemort still didn’t understand most of the fuss–but either way he usually baked a cake for the attendants. Without using magic, of course.   
He normally staid downstairs as a squirrel so he might finally be able to lift the riddle of Quirrell’s obsession – never managing it but never the less eager to try.  
And after a while he started to even like Jane Auston’s work. Maybe because the stories didn’t feel so different to his favourite TV shows….  
Having this intertwined living and working situation allowed Voldemort to sneak around people as a squirrel as well as spending time upstairs.  
Being human, cooking, watching TV and writing. He loved his freedom tough it was still very house bound.  
But this would most likely never change.  
They lived a normal live.   
As normal as it gets for two wizards semi-hiding in the muggel world.   
They had figured that Polyjuice Potion once a month was absolutely fine, so they had at least one couple evening outside each month – often starting with rollerblading, followed by a trip to a bar and in the end some nice movies back home.   
Sitting back to back on the couch, as different as can be, a little tipsy and totally happy.   
None of them needed to rule the world.   
Quirrell could still plant flowers – which he did in their tiny garden - and read Jane Auston while sipping tea by the fireplace and Voldemort wasn’t fond of pushing people into it anymore. He neither was of snakes.   
Since he spent so much time as a squirrel his mindset about them had changed a great deal. 

And Voldemort came to the conclusion that ‘OK’ was in deed wonderful with Quirrell. And that, in the end, life wasn’t really all that messy and complicated - and sometimes it even turned out better than expected.   
The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank's to my correction readers! I forced them to read this waaay to often:  
> The absolutely amazing SVEA,  
> The brilliant Sonja  
> and my wonderful twin sister!!!


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